


Shatter and Shimmer

by killipan-jones (from_a_bad_fairy)



Series: This Is My Kingdom Come [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creepy Hook, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Stalker Sex, dark!Hook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/from_a_bad_fairy/pseuds/killipan-jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a fire escape outside Emma Swan's bedroom window.</p><p>PWP of sorts, with feeling. Takes place in the same universe as ''This Is My Kingdom Come''.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatter and Shimmer

**Author's Note:**

> This sexy little addition to 'This Is My Kingdom Come ' was written for Maggie, as my Captain Swan secret Valentine for her. You do not really need to read the former in order to read this one. It can stand alone.
> 
> Suggested Listening: "Radioactive" and "Bleeding Out" by Imagine Dragons, "Fixin'" by Walk the Moon. I take a lot of inspiration from song lyrics (the title is from "Fixin'"), so I must thank these wonderful musicians for being such excellent muses.

There is a fire escape outside Emma Swan's bedroom window.

And for three weeks now, Killian had hid in the shadows every night, running his gloved hand along the rusted black iron and willing the thick red curtains to open, to billow even in the slightest.

By this point, he had no delusions about what he was doing there. He had memorized her routine. For a woman that was so impulsive and rash, Killian found her to be awfully predictable when it came to a bedtime itinerary.

Until tonight.

This night, as Killian reached the top of the stairwell, taking special care as always not to arouse the ancient, creaky nature of the contraption, he immediately noticed a departure from the usual.

Emma Swan's bedroom window was open.

* * *

Emma had to admit, Hook—  _Killian_ —was not quite as sneaky as he probably gave himself credit for. It was obvious he believed his presence had gone unnoticed, night after night, as he all but  _stalked_  her from outside her window.

And if it had been anyone else out there, any other man, Emma would have slammed her window open and aimed her gun at his face the first time she noticed him outside.

But then, Killian Jones wasn't just  _any_  other man.

Everything about this situation should have made Emma feel sick. She  _should_  have been disgusted with herself when she realized her strange excitement at the thought of Captain Hook watching her in her apartment. Nausea  _should_  have risen in her throat when she thought about this man, this man who knew about it every time she stepped into the shower at night, who could hear her soft, idle humming as she slipped on her nightgown.

But, no. Instead, the knowledge that Killian's eyes— _fuck, those blue eyes—_  were on her, tracking her silhouette through the curtains… it felt like  _drums_  inside her ribcage. It made the tips of her fingers tingle as if they were loosing circulation, made her heart beat so hard that she could see the  _thump thump thump_ below her sternum. Knowing Killian Jones _wanted_  to watch her, night after night?

She just couldn't  _stop_  the intoxicating high, as if from oxygen-deprivation, but at the same time she found herself  _jealous_ , jealous that he had a perch from which he could watch her, yet  _she_  had no way to watch him.

Emma had given up on trying to keep herself from remembering their night together on his ship, when he had first come to Storybrooke in secrecy. It was useless to push the memories out— and in all honesty, she didn't even want to. Killian Jones had showed her a side of him that night that she knew few had ever seen. Emma had pushed through a wall with him, but it hadn't been like it was in romance novels and movie dramas. She had not  _fixed_ him, gotten him to reveal all his deepest, rawest emotions before kissing him and making him whole again.

She had ripped down a wall, all right, but it hadn't been pretty or romantic. It had been a nasty,  _violent_  affair to watch Hook come apart like that. What she had found on the other side of that wall was a broken, angry man, full of hate and hopelessness and villainy.

And yet, it hadn't been unlike watching a star die, growing huge red bright hot angry before bursting into this luminous ball of blistering radiation. Emma remembered reading in school that after a star became a supernova, it would release more energy in that moment that it ever had in its entire  _lifetime_.

So it had been then, after Captain Hook burst open and burnt out and settled into  _Killian_  that Emma had been there, taking him into her body and absorbing everything he needed to give her. She would have been lying if she said she had ever experienced anything like it. To be so intimate with a person when they are not only at their most vulnerable, but when their most vulnerable is nothing but a state of pure self-hatred and destruction?

Emma had felt dirty and beautiful and needed, like being pushed down by some force invisible and tangible all at once, drowning under the weight of water, the weight of his _sounds—_

She needed to feel it again.

_Just one more time._

So that night, Emma Swan decided to sleep with the window cracked.

* * *

It wasn't that Killian thought Emma was  _totally_  unaware of his spying, but he was sure she couldn't know about  _all_  of it. There was no way she would have let that stand. Perhaps she had just seen him the night before, perhaps—

-but who was he to say she was even  _inviting_  him in at all? The night was cool, pleasant, there was no reason why Emma wouldn't want to enjoy a nice breeze as she slept. Sure, she had never done so in the three weeks he had been watching her, but perhaps she felt a bit flushed this night and fancied a cooling off.

Maybe she had also selected one of her  _thinner_  nightgowns, or perhaps she even felt hot enough to sleep bare. Killian remembered the sight of her beneath him, glowing, blood rushing just beneath the surface of her soft skin and covered in a beautiful sheen of sweat, her whole body glistening with need for him.

He was starting to care a lot less about Emma's intentions in keeping her window open tonight.

Her bedroom lights were off for the night, which did not surprise Killian. His investigation of Belle's whereabouts earlier in the evening had kept him later than usual, so he hadn't arrived at his secret post until well after he knew Emma to tuck herself into bed. Killian entertained the thought that the  _responsible_ thing to do— _as a concerned passerby of sorts_ —would be to check that some kind of stranger had not forced their way into Emma's flat, leaving the window open in their wake. If everything turned out to be fine, but Emma was woken in the process, she would surely accept the easy explanation that he was simply  _looking out for her safety._

And while he knew that Emma was smart enough to see right through to his less  _noble_  intentions, something about the way she had breathed his name on  _his_  bed, on his ship, like she was telling him a  _dirty little secret_ , told him that she might not care why Killian Jones was in her bedroom.

What tiny shred of her heart she had given him was shred enough to encourage him.

He was thankful that the guilty slide of metal on metal made no sound as he slowly pried open the window a tad further. Quietly slipping one leather clad leg inside, his hand grazed the silky red curtains, and Killian felt a stirring in his chest knowing that he was finally pushing aside the wretched cloth that had kept Emma fully from him for too long. When he was all the way inside, a glance at her bed told him that he had succeeded in not waking her.

And suddenly Killian realized that he was standing in the middle of Emma Swan's bedroom, alone save for his sleeping princess, turned away from him in her bed.

Never before had Killian Jones he felt so fucking dangerous.

He may not get everything he wanted in this moment, but he could certainly  _do_  anything he wanted. Emma was strong woman, she would let him know if he crossed any lines—at least any lines she didn't want him to cross.

And to be fair—

_—she had no right to cross the line she did when she stepped on my ship—_

—he really had no idea  _where_  the lines were between them anymore, what these lines might even look like, but he was willing to find out tonight, in Emma's bed.

* * *

Emma never did fall asleep that night.

He was quiet enough entering, and if she had actually been sleeping she would never have noticed.

But— but it apparently did not take long for Killian to decide he did not  _care_  if she had noticed, because before she could comprehend it, there was a weight pushing down on the edge of her mattress.

She stopped breathing.

There was an uncertain moment of nothing where Killian did not move, did not reach for her, but the moment passed quicker than it had arrived. Emma felt a hand— _his only hand_ —on the sheet atop her ribcage, and she found her herself mentally wishing away the fabric for him to find her bare skin underneath.

Then he hand was suddenly gone and she heard the sound of heavy clothing falling to the floor—no doubt his leather coat—and then—

—then there was a whole body at her back, forming to her body, but not in the sweet, comforting fashion of a lover fitting perfectly beside you. Instead, she felt the thrill of an animal that is being hunted—but one that wanted to be pursued,  _ached_  to be caught in the hunter's net.

She certainly had no intention of running tonight.

Killian's hand slid beneath the blankets, and Emma heard— _felt_ —his breath catch in his chest upon discovering her nudity.

His hand stopped suddenly, and she felt his whole body go rigid. Confusion settled over Emma. Why was he stopping? Surely he realized she wasn't sleeping, so it couldn't be that he was just being careful not to wake her. Why wasn't he—?

And then Emma realized. He was waiting for permission.

" _Please,_ Emma _."_

" _Yes. Yes, I—"_

But Killian apparently did not care to hear the rest of her sentence. And things suddenly began happening very, very fast for Emma Swan.

His hand was running down her waistline, gripping and holding her in his palm as he went. He took in the gentle curve of her backside, teasing her thighs with his fingertips and cool leather and laces and then, then there was  _no_  teasing to be had at all and—

—two strong fingers were making their way inside her, and she found herself in  _that moment_  where her body hadn't had time to prepare itself just yet, hanging in euphoric shock alongside her brain. But that white-hot feeling—the  _friction_  this provided was the perfect amount of bother, of  _pain_  to set her off and ignite her entire being. Killian was adept with his lack of rhythm, erratic in his ministrations, and if this didn't qualify as  _perfect rough guilty beautiful_ then she didn't know what did.

Suddenly, Emma was overcome with the realization that  _she needed to kiss him_ , and she forced herself to pull away from his hand. She turned over to face him and  _dear_ god he smelled fantastic, looked like pure  _sin_  in his tunic and tight pants and  _fuck fuck fuck those have to come off now—_

The next few moments were a fluster of searing kisses and clothing shed, Emma and Killian breathing hotly into each other's mouths as if they were trying to expel all heat from their bodies and just take in the other's. Emma's only regret from their first encounter, back on his ship, was that she had not taken the time—had not  _had_ the time—to fully appreciate the marvel of his body, and she was  _not_  going to make that mistake twice.

Killian's form had all the look of youth, but was cloaked with the roughness of three hundred years of piracy and mischief. He was firm, scars scattering his toned middle and dark hair dusting his chest. But his shoulders—his  _shoulders_  were something to behold, strong and broad and Emma was pretty sure he could pin down her smaller body with the strength of this expanse alone.

Emma reached for his left…  _appendage_ , wishing to truly examine it for the first time. The daunting, curved steel—

— _and she remembered the feel of it dragging across her bare back, fuck—_

 _—_ was attached to his arm with a, well,  _port_  for it to sort of 'click' into. She had seen him do it many times before.

"I want to take this off."

Hesitation promptly took over Killian's expression. "I can remove the hook—"

"The  _whole_  thing, Killian. I want to feel you as you are. All of you."

He was silent for a moment, clearly considering ignoring her request and just flipping her on her stomach instead. But there was also a growing element of fascination, of guilt, of _why should you have to be confronted with the marred state of my body?_

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea, love."

"Please."

Killian's shoulders slumped, as if in defeat, but then he was focusing on something else, reaching for her hands and directing them to his left wrist—the place where his wrist _would_  have been. Wordlessly, he began guiding her fingers, showing her how to remove the brace and black cloth.

Emma was sure she was the only person who had ever been allowed to do this to him.

It wasn't pretty, but she hadn't expected it to be. Still, she felt a sense of relief knowing that she had now seen  _all_  of him. One less mystery for her to dwell on while she should be working at the station or doing Henry's laundry or cooking dinner or sleeping while Killian waited on the fire escape outside her bedroom window.

She pressed a kiss to his scars, trying to show him,  _prove_  to him that his imperfections didn't bother her, that she was okay with, just,  _everything._

But this was much too sickly sweet for Captain Hook. This was not why he was in Emma Swan's bed tonight.

And then Emma was face down on her own bed and Killian was grabbing her hips, tugging them up, teeth grazing her shoulders and there was  _heat_  between their bodies, radiation running towards her and  _screaming_  off his skin, coming down to bathe her own.

In a snap decision, she decided to take charge for a moment. Her plan had been to sit up on her knees and reach back over his shoulders, surprise him with a kiss.

She did not get very far.

With strength she'd only had the privilege of experiencing once or twice before, his hand— _how does he do all this to me with one fucking hand?—_ pushed down on her waist, hard, his left forearm coming up to press down on her shoulder and now she was stuck,  _pinned_ , and there was no way she was getting out of this one.

"I'll be sure to inform you when  _you_  can start making the rules here,  _beautiful._ "

And then Killian was inside her. He was just as thick as she remembered, surging through her core and Emma had never felt so  _taken_ , ever before. There would be bruises, and she would admire them in her mirror tomorrow.

If nothing else had happened on this night, if no lessons were learned and nothing was shared between them, Emma would still look back on this and remember a time she gave her control over to someone else. She would recall a moment when she bared her body and breathed out, counted to three and just  _took everything in_. Tomorrow, in a week, in another ten years she might not remember everything, but she would remember the time she welcomed a man into her room in the middle of the night and asked him to  _fuck_ her, a time when she finally stopped struggling against someone  _wanting_  her and just gave over her trust for a moment,  _content_ —if that was the word—to lay and watch all those imaginary lines shatter and shimmer before them.

Once Killian was satisfied with the number of times he had made her shudder around him, made her body let go and her dampness cover onto the sheets below her, he removed himself and flipped her over.

Her legs clasped together over his shoulders.

And he started moving again.

Emma stopped counting the number of the hours lost between them. Eventually, Killian came to lie beside her, sated, and by then the sun was already threatening to break over the horizon. They had not spoken a word to each other in hours, and honestly? Emma didn't even know what she could possibly say.

_Thanks?_

_Come again?_

_That was amazing? You're amazing?_

_Will you be out there tomorrow night?_

_You don't have to stay out there. You can stay in here._

_My bed gets lonely._

_It's been lonely for a long time._

_I like the way you feel in it._

Instead, she just exhaled and curled into him, taking advantage of his exhaustion and lack of will to make any snarky comments about cuddling.

Or maybe he just wanted that intimacy, just for a moment, just as much as she did.

Maybe sleepless nights like this one were what Killian Jones needed to keep Captain Hook at bay. Maybe this was the perfect distraction, a distraction to keep his mind off Mr. Gold, off Belle, vengeance, bloodshed.

At the very least, Emma was willing to keep giving it a shot.

 


End file.
